Lightning Effect
by SensiblyTainted
Summary: Sam does a little re-writing of history on his own. For the protection of the world, but mostly for Dean. Set at the end of Season 4 and pre-Season 1
1. Part One

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing, and I write for pleasure not profit.

**Lightning Effect**

**Part One**

As Sam stared down into Damnation made real –

into the mouth of _Hell_,

a place that had broken his unbreakable brother,

– he understood with perfect clarity that he had literally doomed the world.

He understood, too late, that he'd made all the wrong decisions.

Instead of trusting himself into the care of the one person who was the source of all the good in his life, he'd unknowingly surrendered to the evil that had stalked and condemned him since _before_ his birth.

Sam may have been destined to do this horrific thing, but he'd also had the option of choosing a different destiny. He'd been given a chance to find the right path. A single chance that was embodied in Dean.

And he had turned his back on his older brother again and again, in ignorance, because of fear and pride.

Dean held the keys to his salvation, in his love and protection, his sheer devotion to and faith in his family instead of himself.

And still words fell short. They couldn't encompass what Sam now saw so clearly.

Dean wasn't just his older brother. He'd been _ordained_ as Sam's Guardian. They'd always known they had roles to play, known they were more than brothers. Dean was Sam's father in many ways, his companion, his comrade-in-arms, his anchor, his home. Sam had fought, fought hard as he'd been taught. Unfortunately, he'd also fought against Dean.

In his stubbornness, he'd walked alone down a path that no single man could conquer. But _together_, Dean and he, they could have done it. They could have made it to the end; they could have survived with their souls intact.

Sam had been ignorant. He'd panicked and pushed, and he only managed to cut himself free from his parachute. For a long time, he'd been freefalling out of control, and this was the result.

Death.

Destruction.

Lucifer risen.

"_It was your feather, Dumbo."_

Ruby. He'd given trust to Ruby instead of Dean. It had all made sense at the time, but now, as he stood there, bathed in the light from the Pit, he could hardly fathom what had led to that choice.

Betrayal. From his father. From Ruby. From the angels. From his faith. But more painfully, he'd betrayed himself. The hallucination of himself as a teenager had been right. What the hell had happened to him? It had all gotten so confusing, but his younger self would never have made this mistake. His younger self still knew how to trust and have faith, knew how to ask for help and lean on his family when he was too weak, and that was the only thing that could have saved him.

Suffering. He'd suffered. Dean had suffered. His father. Their friends. Now the whole world would suffer beyond imagining. And the worst of it was, it wasn't punishment. It was just cold consequences. The punishment would be worse and more personal, Sam was sure. Death. Loss. There were worse things. And they were all about to rain down on him.

Sam's life…

…his soul…

…lay in _ruins_.

So as Hell rose up to engulf him at last, regret overpowered all else. Regret, not for himself – he really had earned this – but for Dean. Dean didn't deserve it. Didn't deserve Sam. Dean hadn't failed. Sam had. It was all Sam.

Pushed around by beings more powerful than any mortal, he'd been a tool. _Allowed_ himself to be a tool. A tool used not only against the world, but also against his brother. Hell had broken Dean, maybe, but Sam was the only thing that could destroy him.

They were both destroyed. Lucifer was rising.

"_Dumbo."_

If he could go back and rip his life away at the moment of his birth, he would have, but he didn't have that power. Besides, Dean had fought himself bloody, his soul in tatters, just to keep Sam. No. Sam wasn't going to make the wrong decision. He was going to do things right, finally.

He knew when his good intentions had changed to denial, when his decisions had begun to go bad. And he knew just what it would take to keep him from making all the same mistakes again. Knew how much he was sacrificing but also what he was protecting.

Sam grabbed his brother. "I'm sorry," he shouted. Much too late, way too little. He closed his eyes. All that he was, all that was left, he focused all of it on fixing this. He burned up his own life in the effort.

In a flash of light that rivaled even Lucifer, Sam burned away with a yell of pure grief.

…

Sam nervously straightened his blue button-down in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the door. His roommate snorted behind him, and without looking, Sam grumbled, "Shuddup." The name _Dean_ was on the tip of his tongue. But it wasn't his brother behind him. He turned and flashed David a grin. "You're just jealous."

"No, I'm shocked you're putting down all your books to go on a _date_." David shook his head in mock bemusement and lifted his sports mag off his stomach.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You goin' out later?"

"Dude, it's Saturday night. I'm not a geek like you. What do you think?"

Sam wondered about his luck sometimes. He really did. Just starting his second year at Stanford and he got a cheap Dean impersonator for a roommate. Last year, he'd been thrilled to room with Ben. They'd really hit it off, but Ben hadn't returned this semester. His older sister had gone missing during the summer and was found dead just a few weeks ago.

Sam still squirmed guiltily over that. He felt like he'd betrayed Ben somehow by not telling him what he suspected about his sister's disappearance. When Ben had told him the details, Sam had instantly thought of a Black Dog. He'd said nothing, though. Ben wouldn't believe him about a supernatural dog-creature, and if Sam was right, his sister was already dead. Black Dogs killed their prey immediately, but saved the corpse to eat slowly over time. From what Ben had told him, there hadn't been more than literal skin and bones left of his sister when a hiker had stumbled on her remains.

David laughed behind him. "You look like you're about to puke. Don't tell me you're a virgin. This your first date?"

"Shut up, asshole," Sam snarled as he stormed from the room. David's laughter followed him down the hallway.

Sam gritted his teeth. He was being punished because he'd kept his silence with Ben, he just knew it. He slammed his hands into his pockets and brooded. People needed help. He knew what was out there, he had the skills needed... but he couldn't take hunting with his family. Always regulated to support. Treated like a helpless kid, over-protected, taken for granted. He'd been about to lose his mind, snap completely, so he'd run away to Stanford, his only other option at the time.

Sometimes he worried himself sick wondering if Dean or Dad were even alive anymore. Maybe they'd been killed by something they hunted, and Sam would never know. It had been hard at first to shove his doubts and fears to the back corners of his mind. He used school as a distraction, keeping himself functional, even if it didn't stop the episodes of coming screaming-awake from nightmares. Ben had been understanding, even though Sam had never told him the source of the night terrors. David, not so much, but Sam didn't give a fuck about David.

He'd lost count of how many times he'd picked up the phone to call Dean, to beg his brother to come get him, but then Sam would remember, _If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back._ He'd remember the insanity invoking frustration, the terror, the desperate need for independence. And he'd hang up before Dean could answer.

"Hey, there, handsome."

Sam's head jerked up to see Jessica Moore. She wore a red cotton dress that fell to her knees. She was absolutely beautiful. Instantly, he felt tongue-tied and flustered, miserable in a completely different way than a few moments before. "Hey, uh, Jessica. You look… really nice." He blushed hotly, wishing he could disappear.

Jessica smiled, blue eyes twinkling. "Thanks. You look good, too." She linked her arm through his and guided him toward the parking lot between their dorms.

Sam flushed brighter. He'd worked hard during the summer, waiting tables, doing office work for the school, and lifeguarding at the beach on weekends. It was just enough to get him through the next fall and spring semesters buying books, food, and the occasional night out, but no way could he afford a car. It made him feel awkward and pathetic next to her. She obviously had a wealthy family, was gorgeous and intelligent. They competed for top dog in their shared Anthropology class…

He should never have agreed to this date. He had a test on the Judicial system Tuesday, a paper due on European mythology next week, and he could always start work early on the next Anthro essay. So what was he doing here, with someone like her?

"So what's your major?" Jessica pulled out of the parking lot, her long blonde hair sliding over her bare shoulder as she looked both ways.

Sam swallowed hard. "Uh, oh, I'm Undeclared."

Her smile made him feel a bit light-headed. "Yeah, me, too. There's so much to choose from. What are your favorite classes?"

"Anthro is really cool, and I really like Bio and Psych. Not so much Chemistry. I like History a lot, especially American History. The few law classes I've taken so far are really interesting, too. I've got Statistics this semester. So far I really like it. And Latin. It's more fun than I thought it would be. I tested out of 111, so I'm taking 215."

He realized in horror that he was babbling. Damn, he really was acting like this was his first date. It'd been so long, it kinda felt like it, too, like he might throw up. Jessica didn't seem to mind his awkwardness. She flashed him another brilliant smile.

"Sounds about right. Same for me. I'm thinking maybe pre-Vet, but it's hard to decide. I really love Anthropology. I just don't know what kind of job that could land me besides museum curator or teacher. I want to do something more active. I'd just go crazy behind a desk."

Sam smiled shyly. "I think you'll do great at whatever you decide."

She laughed. "Thanks, Sam. Same for you. You're pretty brilliant and not bad looking. That always helps, even if it shouldn't." Suddenly her eyes lit up. "Oh, I love this song. Do you mind?" She blushed a bit at asking. It was a boy-band top hit he vaguely recognized. "It's embarrassing. Not even really music, but it got me somehow. I swear I normally have better taste."

It was Sam's turn to laugh and he felt his muscles begin to relax. "Go ahead. I've suffered worse music, trust me."

She grinned at him and turned the song up.

Sam watched her, almost mesmerized by how free and happy she was, singing along to the cheesy song. Jessica was definitely special, and he felt something giddy settle in his stomach even as his heartbeat picked up. Maybe he'd made the right decision, after all, to come on the date. Hell, even to come to Stanford.

…

The following weeks were spent buying Jess coffee in the mornings, meeting her for lunch in the afternoon, and doing homework together in the evenings. David teased him mercilessly about his 'puppy love', but Sam was too blissed out to care. He'd never been this happy, he didn't think. At least not in a very long time. Jess made everything so much better.

He'd almost called Dean to tell him about her, to brag and rub it in that he had a sexy girlfriend who outclassed any girl Dean had ever dated, but as soon as he heard the first ring, he hung up, heart racing in his chest. He was terrified of confronting his brother, knowing Dean must be pissed at him. He also felt guilty. He'd come here to prove himself, to prepare, not to find a girlfriend. Thankfully the guilt faded more every day, and the urge to call Dean lessened. So did the night terrors.

…

Jessica screamed playfully as Sam chased her around the fountain. With a growl, he switched directions and managed to snag her around her waist. He spun her around as she laughed, the smell of her shampoo wrapping around him, making his stomach growl at the fruity scent. Her arms came around his shoulders and suddenly their mouths were moving together, soft and hungry. His hands cradled her small hips as her nails scratched sensually at his back. They'd made out before, hundreds of times, but this… This felt different, wild and burning.

Sam pulled her flush to his body, and she molded to him, submitting as he walked her backward. Their tongues danced. She tasted so _good_ that he couldn't get enough. With a gasp, she pulled her mouth away, and he immediately attacked her neck. Jess gave a long, low moan, exhaled his name, and Sam practically ran with her up to his dorm room. They pulled clumsily at their clothes, yanking and tearing at their multiple layers.

Jess fell with a soft cry, bouncing on her back on the bed, wearing only a bra and jeans. Sam followed her down and suddenly got an attack of nerves. David hadn't been far wrong. He'd had hand jobs and done some heavy petting with the handful of girlfriends before Jess, but he'd never gone all the way. Heart pounding, skin hot and too tight, he held himself over the woman he'd fallen in love with and had no idea what to do next.

Flushed, mouth kiss-swollen, Jessica smiled sweetly, pupils huge with lust, and pulled him down against her. She arched and rubbed, the move so primal and instinctual that Sam found himself responding in kind. All his nervousness broke away, and he stopped thinking all together.

…

He couldn't keep his hands off her after that. Always wrapping his arms around her, holding her hand, kissing her. Every chance he got, he pulled her into bed. Jess didn't seem to mind if her enthusiastic response was anything to go by. Soon they were in danger of losing their 4.0s. Christmas was coming fast, and with it, the end of the semester. Anxiety over grades paled in comparison to the nerve-wracking panic he felt about the coming winter break.

Jess had cornered him, using blackmail and very lewd promises to get him to agree to come home with her to meet her family over the holidays. God, what was he going to do? For the first time in weeks, he eyed the phone, wishing he could call Dean for advice. But this was likely out of his big brother's experience. This was so normal.

He stood there, dazed for a moment. He'd always felt envious of the normal lives other people seemed to have, always wanted his own, but he'd never actually thought he'd get to have one. For the first time, he could actually picture himself in a life that didn't have hunting in it in some form. The thought gave him a twinge of guilt for all the people who were in danger, but his brother and father were out there. They'd help them. He shook off the guilt and returned to his books.

…

Sam put his duffle into the backseat and slid into the passenger side. He glanced at the dark storm clouds hanging low above them with a frown. If he didn't know better, he'd think it was a summer thunder storm about to break, but that couldn't be right, it was mid-December. He shivered. "Are you sure we can't wait another day?"

Jess smiled and patted his thigh. "I told you, Sam. They'll love you."

"I'm serious. Those clouds don't look good." Sam wiped his hands nervously on his jeans. He had a bad feeling about this.

She bent over the steering wheel to look up at the sky. "We should be okay. It's only two hours."

Sam said nothing. Jess was right. He was probably just nervous about her parents. He shook off his unease and gave her a dimpled smile. "All right. Let's do this."

She kissed him in reward, and they pulled away from the school.

They were halfway to her parents' when the clouds released their burden in buckets. Thunder rumbled so loudly that the windows vibrated with each crash. Jess slowed the car to a crawl, wipers going at their highest setting, and still they could hardly see. Despite it being early afternoon, it was pitch black out there.

"Pull over," Sam ordered. He wasn't about to risk her safety.

She sighed and did as he instructed. She left the car running for the heater and turned the hazard lights on. With a grin, Jess moved across the distance between them and settled in his lap. Sam's arms immediately came around her. Their mouths moved together, slow and lazy.

With a mischievously smile, Jess pulled away. "Good idea. I needed that."

He could hardly hear her over the rain pounding on the roof, lashing against the windows. It was as if they were wrapped in their own little universe. Nothing outside the car existed. The kissing became heavier. Soon she was rocking against him. Sam growled, fumbling for his pants. Jess shimmied her jeans down her thighs and turned around. Sam couldn't believe he was doing this. Then he was sliding into her, Jess giving a hoarse cry, and all thoughts stopped. He lifted her slowly, bringing her back down as he thrust up.

"Sam, god, yes. Faster."

The torturous pace escalated. The windows fogged. Sweat plastered their hair to their faces. With a sharp cry, she orgasmed, folding limply across the dash. Sam gave a roar and followed her into ecstasy. They sat there, panting, for several minutes before Jessica began to squirm.

"Sam, baby, you know I love you, but I'm sticky."

He laughed. "Let me help you with that." It took some maneuvering, but he managed to give her a tongue bath that had her screaming his name a second time.

Eventually, their clothes were righted and they returned to their proper seats. The engine chose that moment, of course, to sputter and die.

Jess cursed, slapping the steering wheel. "We're outta gas."

Sam grinned at her dark glare. She hated rain, and she wasn't looking forward to going for a long hike through the end of the storm to get more. "Hey, it's okay. I'll get it and come right back. Keep the doors locked. The station's only a mile back or so."

Jess sighed. "Thanks, Sam. I really do love you."

"I know. Love you, too." He kissed her with another soft chuckle before stepping out into the cold drizzle still falling from the dark sky. "I'll be back soon. Be careful."

"You, too," she answered.

Grinning like an idiot, Sam began to jog away from the car. He'd only gone a few paces, however, when the hairs on his arms stood on end. He turned his head in slow motion, eyes wide, as white agony slammed into him.

…

Sam woke slowly. It was like trying to swim against a surging current. In fact, for one distorted minute, he thought he really was drowning, and he held his breath until his eyes came into focus. He was in a room. Hospital, he recognized instantly from the smell and chill. Drowsy but in no pain, he looked around at the equipment surrounding him. Sure was an awful lot. There were no people waiting by his bedside.

_Dean? Dad?_

Where was his family? Were they hurt, too? Had they been on a hunt? Sam couldn't remember. He'd only ended up in the hospital a few times. Usually Dean got hurt the worst. By protecting Sam.

Sam was so sick of patching up his family. So sick of his brother throwing himself into harm's way thinking it was helping Sam when it only made him want to scream.

And just like that, he remembered.

He'd left his family. He'd gone to Stanford. The sudden sense of loneliness and vulnerability was crushing, but thankfully he wasn't left with it for long.

A middle-aged man in a white lab coat walked in and froze in surprise. "Ah! Mr. Winchester, I'm pleased to see you awake."

Sam blinked his blurry eyes, pretending the tears wetting his cheeks didn't exist, if only for his pride's sake. The doctor pushed a button by his head. It raised his torso with a loud grating noise by about forty-five degrees.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Winchester?"

Sam shivered, feeling exposed and weak. His fingers tugged restlessly at his bed sheets. His hands felt too big, clumsy. What had happened? Fear kicked his heart rate up. Why was he hurt if he'd left hunting?

"I'm Dr. Milton. Do you remember what happened?"

A nurse entered then and began to record things on a clipboard from the machines. The doctor waited patiently until Sam's eyes returned to him.

"Can you tell me your name? What's the last thing you remember?"

Sam tried to answer, but he only got out a weak croak. The nurse hurried to get him a cup of water, and he drank gratefully. When she pulled away, he tried again.

"Sa-sa-sam. Wh – appened?"

"Sam, you were struck by lightning last week. Do you have a family doctor? I would like to see your medical records, compare them to our results."

"L-lost i-i-in fi-fire," Sam stuttered weakly, the practiced lie coming easily to his mind even as the words struggled on his tongue. He frowned. Why was talking so difficult?

The doctor mirrored his unhappy look. "Is there family I can contact? I have a few questions."

Sam felt his throat close up. _Dean. Dad._ He was also beginning to realize something was really wrong with him. He felt numb. Heavy. "A-a-ask m-m-me."

"Mr. Winchester, do you have a history of seizures?"

Sam's eyes widened. He shook his head hard.

"You've suffered three seizures since you've been hospitalized. The test results suggest epilepsy due to the regularity of the disturbances and the higher activity in the brain during calm periods. Is there a history of epilepsy in your family?"

Again Sam shook his head. He couldn't catch his breath. Panic scoured through his veins. He wanted Dean more than ever.

"Is the stuttering normal?"

Sam could only stare at him, his breath rasping quicker through his raw throat and lungs.

"I'd like to run some more test to gauge the extent of the damage. There are other potential physical side effects to epilepsy besides seizures. Stuttering is one of them. Hopefully there won't be any mental impairment, but you should prepare yourself for that possibility."

Sam's breath shuddered through his lungs. _Seizures. Other effects. Stuttering._ Static filled his head. _Mental impairment._ The realization that he was shaking hit him, and his panic skyrocketed into terror.

And then, like a light being flicked off, he was gone.

…

The second time Sam woke, he wasn't as numb. His whole body throbbed dully. It reminded him of grueling training sessions, which led him instantly back to thoughts of his family. He reached out a shaking hand. His arm muscles burned, but he ignored it. He needed the phone. He was weak, vulnerable, and afraid. Not exactly how he'd imagined reuniting with his family, not the picture of strength and independence he'd hoped for, but he couldn't do this alone. Not anymore. He had no pride left. None.

With a whimper, he lifted the handset and brought the phone to his ear. No dial tone. He pulled it back enough to push nine. Success. A low, patient hum filled his ears. Tears blurred his vision, but he could dial the number in his sleep. This time when he heard ringing, he didn't hang up.

"Hello?" Gruff, sleepy. _Dean._

"D-d-d-d…" God, he couldn't get his tongue to work, the word, the _plea_, was stuck in his mouth. His distress made it worse. He couldn't even fucking stutter right, forget talking!

"…Who is this?"

A sob tore free from Sam's throat as he pulled the phone as close to his face as possible.

"Hey, it's okay. I can help. Just tell me who you are."

Sam closed his eyes tight, beginning to wish he hadn't called. It'd been over a year since he'd seen his brother. The gap between them suddenly loomed insurmountable, and he saw no way across despite the gut-wrenching need to reach the other side. Even if he could talk, what would he say?

_Don't ever come back._

"Winchester," a deep voice barked into the phone. "What's this about?"

The sound of his father's voice made Sam feel hot and cold at the same time. His father had no forgiveness in him. Not that Sam wanted to ask for forgiveness; he'd done the only think he could do, the only choice left to him outside of being driven to blow his brains out. Sam was a burden, anyway. Dad had made that clear, so why'd he get so mad when Sam had wanted to take a break for school?

Soft in the background: _"… Dad, give me the phone…"_ Then the rustle of the phone being shifted, a door being opened then shut, muted steps on concrete. "Sam?" Dean spoke softly, carefully. "That you? You okay?"

_God_. Sam's breath whooshed out. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding it. Not for the first time, it hit him how much Dean did for him. As much as it infuriated him, it also meant a lot that Dean protected him. Even from their Dad. Soft memories flooded his mind's eye.

Dean was the one who fetched and soothed when Sam had been sick. Dad was a protective presence in the background. Always the background. Unless it was to bitch him out or to bark orders. Not Dean. His brother was a constant source of comfort and aggravation. The key being _constant_. Right now, Dean was one hundred percent in comfort mode. Sam missed him so much it physically hurt, and he pressed a weak, trembling hand to his chest.

"Sammy? You still there, bro?"

Despite Sam walking away, despite the cruelty of adding a year of silence, Dean still stood beside him, still loved him. He was crying again. Humbled, feeling wretched, he again doubted his choices up to this point. He'd never wanted to lose his brother and father so completely. That had never been the goal. Independence, respect, a little relief from the constant fear and disappointment, but not this isolation.

The plastic creaked in his hand, he held it so tightly. "D-d-de…. D-de…"

"Hey. Hey, it's okay. Deep breaths, man. I'm not going anywhere. Take your time." Dean's voice washed over him, calmed his racing heart. "It's nice to get out of the room for a while. TV don't even work. Worth freezing my nuts off for some fresh air. Even got some snow. Vermont in December. Can you believe it? Should be in Florida. Year-round beach babes."

Sam snorted, muscles relaxing as he was enfolded in everything _Dean_. It also reminded him of his own babe. Jessica. God, what had happened to her? Was she hurt, too? How could he have forgotten her? Fear for himself shrank, replaced with worry for his girl.

"D-dean. In h-h-hospita-tal. Light-light-light…" he cut the word off almost violently and forced the word past his numb lips. "_Lightning_ st-strike."

"Take it easy, Sam. You'll be all right. I'm on my way. Where are you?"

Relief filled his eyes with tears. "D-don't kn-kn-kn-kn…" Helpless to communicate, he whimpered in frustration.

"I'll find you," Dean promised, and Sam didn't doubt him for a second. "See you soon, little brother. Hang in there."

Dean's voice had gotten gruffer at the end. Sam smiled, thinking, _Love you, too_. But there was no way he could say it, even if he didn't stutter like a broken record.

Things weren't all better between them. Dean may have put their fight on hold, but a year and an act of abandonment wasn't going to disappear without some serious groveling, but Sam felt confident that their relationship could be mended. He wasn't so sure about his father, but he'd deal with that later. Right now, he needed to know about Jess.

He clumsily hung up the phone and fumbled with the nurse call button. He waited, almost feverish with nerves, but it wasn't a nurse who walked through the door a moment later. Jess's eyes lit up as she saw him and a breathtaking smile warmed her face.

"Sam! You're awake! God, why didn't they call me?" Then she was on him, hugging him as tightly as she could. "I was so worried! Don't you ever do that again."

Sam held her with heavy arms. He sighed, tension draining out of him. How could he have forgotten this even for a second? Exhaustion tugged him down, and he pulled the scent of her with him into the darkness.

…

"He ready to call it quits and come home?"

Dean scowled. He didn't even pause to look at his dad as he moved to his bed and began to quickly pack his things. "He's in the hospital. Doesn't sound good." Sam's weak stuttering echoed in his head, and Dean practically vibrated with the need to get to him. "Something about a lightning strike. We gotta go."

"Dean…"

Dean looked up at his father's uncharacteristically hesitant tone. He saw his dad rubbing tiredly at his face.

"I'll finish up here and follow you."

Dean's mouth fell open in shock. He hadn't expected those words to come out of his father's mouth. Not now. Sammy had called. His brother had finally reached out after that nightmare fight. Sam was hurting and needed them. And Dad wasn't coming.

"That rawhead's got three little kids. Can't leave the hunt. Not while they might still be alive. Go. Take care of your brother. I'll only be a day or two behind you."

The rage faded before it could really grab hold of him. He frowned. "I could stay…" It killed him to offer.

"No." Dad again rubbed at his face. "Sammy would only get upset to see me. You go. Figure out what's going on. Get him settled. Then I'll see him."

Dean nodded, already moving toward the door.

"Dean. You stay on guard. Don't know if this was supernatural or not. You keep him safe."

"Yes, sir," he answered solemnly and hurried to the Impala. Sam needed him.

…

Jessica was stopped in the hall just short of Sam's room. Her hands were full of the flowers she'd bought and a frown instantly filled her face.

"I won't keep you long, dear," the elderly nurse assured her. "I was just hoping you could talk to your friend. He keeps delaying the tests we need to do."

"Is he okay?"

"He's stable," the woman answered. "But we need to know the range of the damage if we're going to help him recover as much as possible."

Jessica's face crumbled a bit. She wasn't stupid. She knew by the way no one would use the words 'full recovery' in reference to Sam that her lover had been permanently damaged. Guilt ate at her. It was her fault. She'd made them leave even when Sam was worried about the storm, and then she'd made him get gas before the rain had passed completely. She would do everything in her power to make sure Sam got as well as possible, and if that meant seducing him into letting the nurse run tests, then that's what she'd do.

"I'll see what I can do," she promised.

The nurse gave a big smile at that. "Thank you. You're a good friend to him."

Jessica ignored that knowing it wasn't true. However, she straightened her shoulders and brought out a smile before she entered Sam's room. She knew it would only upset him if he saw how miserable she felt.

Sam was sitting up, his face pale and his eyes dark with fear and pain that he couldn't hide. He looked horribly ill and small. Already he'd lost nearly ten pounds. Her gorgeous and sexy boyfriend was melting away it seemed. She hid painful tears with a bright smile. "Hey, baby. Brought you some lilies."

He smiled back, but it was only a shadow of his normal smile. There were no dimples in sight. "N-n-not r-roses?"

"Roses are lame," she scoffed. Jessica set the flowers on the rolling table that was pulled close to his bed. There was a very unappetizing meal sitting there untouched. "Food sucks, huh?"

His eyes dropped to his lap. "Not h-h-h-hungr-gry."

Her smile cracked around the edges and disappeared. She reached out and held one of his cold hands. "Maybe later, then. How do you feel?"

Sam didn't answer her. She decided she'd have to do something drastic or he was going to shut her out.

"You mad at me?"

Sam's head whipped up predictably. "N-n-not an-an-ang… _mad_," he finally spat out.

His free hand clinched in the sheets and tears welled in his eyes. The grief-stricken expression about broke her heart. Though it did help to know he wasn't talking to her because he hated the stutter, not because he was pushing her away. She opened her mouth to reassure him that it didn't matter when a rough looking guy strolled into the room like he owned the place. More shockingly, Sam's whole body went limp. Jessica hadn't even realized how tightly Sam had been holding himself until he'd gone loose.

"Sammy," the man called as a greeting, a smooth grin sliding across his face. "What'd I tell you 'bout beatin' yourself up just to flirt with the pretty nurses?"

To her further shock, Sam actually smiled at the stupid joke. A full smile, dimples included. "De-dean."

Dean. Jessica had heard Sam call that name twice before in his sleep. It was a word filled with such longing and need that she suspected it was the name of a former lover. To realize just how attractive her competition was made her jealousy double. It did not make her happy that Sam had reacted so strongly to this guy when she didn't have nearly the same reassuring effect.

With a bit more heat than was normal for her, she crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow. "I'm Jessica. Sam's girlfriend."

Dean's smile widened as he looked her up and down, lingering on her chest. "Wow. I've got to say, you're way out of his league."

She scowled at him, seeing red as the guy's hand settled on Sam's wrist in a possessive, protective gesture that was unmistakable. The insult to Sam on top of it almost made her explode, but before she could tear the guy a new one, Sam _laughed_. It was the first laugh since he'd woken up over two days ago. Jessica stared at him as relief killed her jealousy. She'd put up with almost anything that made Sam laugh like that.

"Th-th-this is my, my, my…" Sam's smile vanished, his whole body tensing again.

"His awesome big brother," Dean finished for him, grin still in place.

If Jessica wasn't watching carefully, she'd have gotten mad again at the seemingly dismissive way Dean treated Sam's distress, but she _was_ watching, and she saw how the guy's fingers moved in subtle circles on the inside of Sam's wrist. The touch was obviously calming, since Sam was relaxing again.

"That's what he was going to say, right, Sam? I'm your totally awesome brother." Dean batted his long lashes at Sam, and even Jessica had to smile at that.

Sam rolled his eyes with a smile. "Y-yeah right, j-j-jerk."

"Bitch."

"Brother, huh?" Jessica relaxed completely and offered her own charming smile. "Well, in that case…" She leaned across Sam's bed and kissed Dean on the cheek. Dean actually blushed, his eyes darting down shyly for a split second before he could recover with a leer. She laughed, now certain this was Sam's brother and that he could be trusted. "My friends call me Jess."

Dean wagged his eyebrows at Sam, his freehand gesturing at his face. "Get's them every time. You better watch out for your girl, man."

Sam was grinning at both of them, obviously delighted.

Jessica bent and kissed the corner of that smile. She stroked his hair twice before kissing his cheek. "I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?" She usually stayed until visiting hours expired, but she could tell the brothers needed time. Sam nodded, flushed and happy, confirming her decision. "Bye, Dean. It was real nice to meet you."

"Same here," he responded with a grateful smile and offered his cheek playfully. "Don't I get one?"

She shook her head and touched his arm gently as she passed him. She pulled the door shut after her and just stood there for a minute, listening.

"So when can I bust you outta here, dude?"

"G-g-got te-te-tests."

"All right. I'll get the nurse. Sooner we start, the sooner we'll finish."

"Kay."

Jessica smiled and left them to it.

…

Dean would never wish Sam hurt, no matter how mad he got at the brat, but some small part of him had wanted Sam to be wrecked without him. It would only be fair, after all. Something inside Dean had gone dark when Sam left fifteen months and thirteen days ago – Yes, he'd kept count – and as soon as he'd laid eyes on his brother, he felt whole again. But he was not happy at all with the dark circles, the unhealthy pallor, the too-long oily hair.

Sam was strong, defiant, brilliant. The frightened look in the kid's eyes as he completed the endless rounds of tests the doctors had thought up did not make him happy at all. Dean felt grim reality closing in on him. It was clear Sam was in serious trouble. His muscle strength was crap, his hand-eye coordination nowhere near his usual perfect, and the stuttering only got worse throughout the grueling day, rendering him practically mute.

Probably the worst of it for Sam was the mental exercises, the stupid puzzles and shit they had him do. The results had been way below average when normally he scored off the charts with any kind of logic assessment. The bad scores were partly due to his attention span, which was shot, but his short-term memory wasn't so great right now, either.

The worst of it for Dean was the way three separate doctors huddled together whispering over the results of the CAT scans and MRIs. Apparently, his brother's brain was lit up like a lighthouse. The threat of more seizures hung heavy in the air. Dean knew what kind of damage a Grand Mal could cause and was frankly terrified for his brother. No. Dean was not happy. Well… Maybe a little.

They were back in Sam's room with his brother safely deposited in bed, and Dean gently brushed a hand over the kid's limp hair. "You must be beat. Get some sleep."

Sam blinked up at him, almost like he was afraid if he closed them, Dean might disappear. He may not be able to talk right now, but Dean could read him like a book. Always had.

"I'm not going anywhere, kiddo."

Sam's hand turned over, palm up.

Dean linked their fingers without any hesitation. "Sleep, Sammy. I've gotcha."

The dark, hazel eyes slid shut, the lids faintly blue, the circles underneath black.

Dean stood there for several minutes, softly petting Sam's hair. When he was certain Sam was deeply asleep and wouldn't wake, he carefully pulled his hand away and silently went in search of Sam's main doctor. Dean wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

Fortunately, he didn't have to go far. Dr. Milton was waiting for him, and they had a bit of a tug-of-war. Dean didn't want to leave Sam's floor to go to the doc's office, and the doctor didn't want to have their conversation in public. They compromised and took the discussion to a nurse's office only three doors down from Sam's room.

Dean sat in an uncomfortable chair in the closet-like space and listened as the doctor informed him that Sam had flat-lined for relatively ten minutes before he could be resuscitated. Milton went on and on about all the possible effects of being _dead_, then listed all the possible effects of being _electrocuted_. Dean's teeth slowly began to grind, the chair's arms creaking under his grip.

"Sam's in very fragile condition right now, Mr. Winchester. To be frank, we haven't seen a case like this in many years. I'm frankly astonished he's even coherent with the storm raging through his brain. It's important you don't get his hopes up. It is highly likely, I'm afraid, that more complications will crop up or for the afflictions he's demonstrating to worsen, and he needs to prepare himself to cope with his new condition."

Dean shot to his feet. "Like hell I'm taking the kid's hope. You don't know shit about my brother. Sam's strong. He's going to make a full recovery. He just needs time."

The doctor's eyes narrowed. "That kind of attitude certainly won't help your brother. I've witnessed the devastation in patients when the full recovery promised never appears. Many ended up on suicide watch."

"Sam ain't most people," Dean growled in warning.

The doctor stiffened, voice going cold. "That boy should have died. The fact that he came out of it with merely second degree burns across his chest and arms and epilepsy is a miracle. Be grateful for that instead of demanding the impossible."

Dean reached over and grabbed the smug asshole by the coat, yanking him half over the desk. "Don't tell me to stop wanting the best for my brother, you sanctimonious prick. He _deserves_ the fucking best. Sam's a better person than you'll ever hope to be, so you make sure to keep your opinions about his future to yourself, you hear me? Or we'll have to have another _talk_."

Dean released the sputtering man and stormed from the small office. How dare that bastard! The power of positive thinking – as cheesy as it sounded – was remarkable. If Sam thought there was no chance of recovering, then he really wouldn't get better. But believing it was possible would at least give him a chance, and Dean would make sure Sam had all the chances he could get. Milton had obviously never dealt with Winchesters before. Sam had been through worse than a bit of lightning and had made a complete recovery. There was no reason this wouldn't be the same.

…

John had been up for almost thirty-eight hours, but he couldn't rest. Dean hadn't called. John assumed that meant he was busy, but if he was that busy, then that couldn't mean anything good for his youngest. Thus, he was a bit sharp around the edges when he extracted the information of what room his son was being kept in. Nurses practically dove out his way as he stalked through the sterile halls.

Finally, he reached 509 and silently pushed the door open. The room beyond was dark. Light from the hall spilled in to reveal Sam staring dopily at his brother who was sleeping awkwardly in a chair by the bed. Even in his sleep, John could see Dean had a firm hold on Sam's hand. The light registered, and Sam's head came around, blinking. John's breath caught in horror at how sick Sam looked. Recognition lit Sam's hazel eyes and the boy paled further, the heart monitor spiking with his boy's obvious fear.

Dean jerked awake. "Sammy?" He jumped to his feet and faced the door, only to relax again.

John was still shocked over Sam's appearance and the obvious fear he invoked in his son, so he stood rooted in place, leaving Dean to once again pick up the pieces. But, damn, was his eldest good at it.

"Hey, it's okay, bro," Dean soothed his brother, bent low near Sam's face. "Breathe. I gotcha. It's just Dad. I know he's scary before he gets coffee, but you know he's all bark. And he needs a shower. Almost looks as bad as you, dude. That's sayin' something."

Sam visibly shuddered before going limp, gasping in air. He sat there for a moment before breaking eye contact with his brother. This time when he met John's eyes, he was less afraid, more cautious. His long fingers twisted in the blanket draped over his lap.

"How is he?" John rasped out.

Dean lifted his head and their eyes met. "He's gonna be fine. Got a bit of a rough ride ahead, but they expect a full recovery. For being in a week-long coma, he's doing really well, actually. Already callin' him a miracle."

Sam gasped, relief and wonder filling his too-young face before he buried it in his brother's side.

John frowned at Dean above Sammy's head. Dean stood there, all fierce determination, challenging him to take away the hope he'd just given his brother. The sound of Sam's muffled sobbing filled the room, and John began to feel a bit queasy. So he nodded, silently agreeing to follow Dean's lead. Hell, Dean usually knew best when it came to Sam, anyway. Probably the smartest thing he could do. Especially when he wasn't quite firing on all four cylinders.

"That's right, Sammy," Dean practically cooed, his attention returning to his brother. His hand moved up and down Sam's back. "You're gonna be just fine, you big drama queen."

John cleared his voice roughly as Sam's sobs tapered off and finally fell silent. "I'm real glad to hear that." Dark hazel eyes peaked out at him from Dean's sheltering side. "You had me real worried, son."

Sam lowered his eyes before glancing up at Dean. Dean gave him an encouraging nod. John waited patiently as Sam looked back at him.

"I'm sah-sah-sorry."

He sounded just like he had at three years old, tired and miserable, and John found himself moving forward almost unconsciously to the foot of the bed. He patted Sam's leg. "Don't be sorry, Sam. Just get better and I'll be happy."

Sam smiled. A huge, heart-stopping smile that had John reflecting it without meaning to.

Squeezing his boy's leg, he cleared his throat for a second time. "Guess I'll go talk to the doc. See when we can get you outta here."

Sam nodded, eyes large and red from his crying.

John squeezed his leg again, hoping to give some reassurance, and gave Dean a nod before slipping from the room as silently as he'd come. He leaned against the door and just listened for a moment. It seemed like he'd spent half his boys' childhood listening at their door. It was the only way he could gain understanding sometimes. His boys rarely said what they meant in the light of day, but they were remarkably open and honest at night, closed up together. He wasn't disappointed. Almost instantly he heard the murmur of soft voices and tilted his head so his good ear was closer to the wood.

"Th-thanks f-f-for comin'."

"Dude, you know how much I love hospital food."

A weak chuckle that quickly trailed off.

"Never m-m-meant to le-le-leave you and Dad. Just wanted to-to-to…"

"Whatever, man. It's cool. Get some sleep."

A soft thump. A fist on the bed, John suspected.

"Listen. _Please_."

A moment of silence, the sound of weight settling in a chair. Then Sam's soft voice continued.

"I wanted to p-p-prove I could d-do it. To myself and to you g-g-guys. A-Always the ba-ba-baby. Took cl-classes thought would he-he-he-help the h-hunt. Make me b-better. Sick of being p-pushed to the side-side-sidelines. P-patching you up. Wa'ned to be equal. A p-partner. Like y-y-you and D-d-dad. And was so ti-ti-tired of b-being a-a, af-af… _scared_. Just wa'ned a b-break, D-dean. Didn't th-th-think couldn't c-come h-home if I w-went. Then it w-was all m-messed up. Too l-l-l-l-late. But never wa'ned to l-l-l-lose you, D-dean. M-mi-missed you so b-bad. Called. Hung up. Hundreds of t-times."

John's nails had broken the skin of his palms, and he wondered why Dean was letting Sam go on so long. The broken little speech was about killing John. He'd done this. He'd seen Sammy as his baby boy. Hadn't been able to see the man he was becoming. Pushed him into running away to prove he could be a part of the team and not just a grunt. Then he'd slammed the door shut between them, after practically shoving Sam out to begin with, with that 'don't come back' shit. He'd just been so scared, and that always transmuted into anger with him.

Dean's voice finally cut in. Unfortunately, it only made John feel worse.

"I knew it was you. I got all of 'em. Missed you, too, Sammy, and I never doubted you could do it, bro. A full ride to Stanford. You're such a little geek."

A soft laugh. Sam's.

"J-J-Jerk."

"Bitch." Dean answered, and John knew if he could see through the door that Dean would be ruffling his brother's hair. "You're gonna regret this mega-chick-flick tomorrow when some of the meds are out of your system."

"No. M-mean it."

"And I hear you, Sam. Just rest now. I'll still be here tomorrow."

"L-L-L-Love you."

John sucked in a harsh breath. No doubt Sam was drugged to the gills for that to slip out. His boys said it through teasing nicknames or ridiculous pranks, or by giving up favorite things to the other. It was never so baldly stated. So he expected Dean to deflect, bring it back to the realm of normal with a teasing remark. Instead, there was no hesitation.

"Love you, too, little brother. Now get some sleep."

Silence followed this remarkable occurrence, and John suddenly felt uncomfortable for overhearing something meant to be private. Although he did feel stronger now. His boys were together. They were safe. Sammy was still the same precious boy he'd always been. John hadn't lost him, not completely. Determined, he pushed away from the door and went in search of the doctor. He was going to find out the truth of Sam's condition, and the reason behind the fire in Dean's eyes when he'd told Sam he was going to be fine. And John better like the answers, or he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

**Chapter end.**


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

Dean was seriously getting pissed. It had been two weeks since he'd arrived at the hospital, and Sam wasn't getting better. In fact, he was getting worse. Well, in his opinion, if not the doctors, and damn it! That's the only opinion that mattered.

Sam had three more seizures, mild ones, but it made the stupid doctors up his medication. Sam was on no less than ten strong medications. He slept twelve or thirteen hours at a time, and when he was awake, he was far from coherent. He and Dad researched everything they could about the meds they didn't already know about. Drugs like Ciprofloxacin, Amihacin, Klonopin, Tegretol, and Valium of all things. The side effect list was truly staggering. Sam had moments of deafness from the Amihacin, and the doctors prescribed _another_ drug to counteract the side effect of the first. Not to mention, Sam's kidneys were in serious danger with all this crap.

"D-d-dean…"

"I'm here, Sammy," Dean said softly. He was standing at the foot of the bed, watching, always watching.

"Wh-what does it m-ma-matter…" His hand flopped like a dead fish in an indecipherable gesture. "That I h-h-have double-j-j-ointed to-to-toes?"

Despite the many hours of sleep, Sam's eyes were still circled by black rings and were dull. His dimples were gone completely. Sam was fading away.

"I don't know, Sam," he answered, not knowing what the heck Sam was on about now but glad the kid was talking to him and not to people who weren't there. They had to be careful or the fucking doctors would inject him with anti-psychotics next.

"D-d-dean?"

"Yeah. I'm here." Dean sighed. He felt bone weary. What was he going to do?

"Did th-th-th, th-th-th…"

"The," he offered with a pained look.

Sam nodded his head a half-dozen times before continuing, "Bl-l-l-lood g-get s-s-nake b-b-bit?"

Dean covered his face, fighting helpless rage. He was usually pretty good at understanding Sammy-speak, but his brother's gibberish had become true gibberish.

Then Sam stopped breathing.

Dean rushed around the bed and grabbed his brother's shoulders. Sam had taken to doing this for the last few days. It scared the bejeezus out of him every time. "Hey, come on. Breathe with me, little brother. Sam, can you hear me? Breathe, okay?" Dean grabbed Sam's limp hand and placed it on his chest to demonstrate the simple act of breathing. "See? In and out. Come on, Sam. Breathe!"

Sam gasped and blinked his eyes rapidly.

Dean went limp at his side. Shaking, he laid his forehead on his brother's greasy hair. Tears burned the back of his eyelids, but they refused to fall. "Why do you do that? Huh? Why, Sam?" He'd asked it a dozen times, but Sam had never answered. Until now.

"D-d-drowning, De. I'm dra-dra-_drowning_."

Dean went rigid. He about crushed Sam to him in a fierce embrace. Voice rough, he answered, "Not on my watch, you're not." With that, he released his brother. "Go back to sleep, Sammy."

"Kay." Sam closed his eyes, pliant and vulnerable in his drugged state.

"The nurse said they want to put him in a nursing home for long-term care."

Dean lifted his head to see Jessica standing in the doorway. The girl had been hovering around the last week, but they hadn't talked much. Dean liked her all right. She wasn't clingy or weepy, and sometimes she even made Dean laugh. It was clear she really cared about Sam. Dad avoided her like the plague, which was why the man was missing now. When public visiting hours came around, he always disappeared back to the motel. To wash and look into things, he said, but Dean knew it was because Jessica reminded him of their mom.

"He's not going," Dean answered shortly. "In fact, I'm busting him out. These doctors don't know what the fuck they're doing. They're killing him."

Jessica held his gaze. He waited for a denial, a rush of words to convince him it was the wrong decision, that he might fucking kill Sam by taking him away from medical care, but she said nothing. Dean found himself holding his breath, waiting for her verdict. And since when did he need permission or approval from this girl, anyway?

"My family has a cabin. It's only an hour away. Got all the amenities, but it's private. Your family can crash there. It'd be better than a hotel or the school dorms."

Dean found himself relaxing, a smile lighting his face. "Thanks, Jess."

Her eyes narrowed. "But only on the condition that I can visit regularly. You can pick when's good for you. And if he starts getting worse, he comes right back."

"Of course," Dean quickly agreed.

She nodded, her blonde ponytail bobbing. "Okay, then. What can I do to help?"

…

Turned out Jessica didn't have to do much. She just dealt with Sam, getting him dressed and keeping him calm. He couldn't walk on his own. He was weak and shaky, not to mention very uncoordinated at the moment, so all she had to do was push a wheelchair. It wasn't difficult, and as a bonus it gave her a ringside seat for the unfolding drama.

Dean and John were a formidable team. They filled the corridor and kept any nurses from getting to Jess and Sam as she pushed him toward the elevator. John had the right to take his son. At least for now. Dr. Milton was currently screaming about having Sam declared mentally unfit to make legal decisions and John an unfit caretaker. He even had the audacity to allude to what they were doing as murder.

Jess shook her head as Dean finally exploded. It was rather impressive, actually.

"Oh, shut up, you pathetic shit-eater! You want to talk murder, Mr. Sanctimonious? You're practically reducing my brother to a gibbering human shell, all lights turned off! So don't talk to me like I'm the one doing serious harm. You're world is so fucking narrow that all you can see is numbers on a page! Way to go, Dr. Jekyll. You can't even remember it's a person you're dealing with, you soul-sucking bureaucratic goat-fucker! "

"Dean! Enough. Let's go."

The two men stepped onto the elevator with Jess and Sam and the doors swung shut on the red-faced, apocalyptic Dr. Milton. Soft elevator music enveloped them.

"Well, if he does need to come back to a hospital, best not make it this one," Jess offered into the awkward silence.

John shifted his weight, not looking at her, but Dean flashed her a wide grin.

Sam looked up at her as well and offered his own opinion. "St-st-strawb-b-berries always m-m-make D-d-dean ha-ha-hungry."

"Yeah, his face did look like a strawberry," Dean translated with an ease that continued to surprise Jessica.

She giggled, but her amusement faded quickly. She really hoped they were making the right decision. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she aided hurting Sam further. But somehow, the way John smiled softly down at his youngest, his big hand resting on Sam's arm, and the way Dean stood so protective and ready despite the dark circles his own eyes were sporting, told her that Sam would be better off with them than with the doctors and syringe after syringe of drugs.

The car ride was interesting. There was a bit of juggling and unspoken shuffling with the seats. Dean wanted to sit with Sam, but it was clear their dad wasn't comfortable with Jessica up front with him. But once Sam was settled in the back, there wasn't room for all three of them. Dean made his own opinion clear by sliding in with his brother and shutting the door.

John scowled at Jessica over the car before a grin – one so much like Sam's it surprised her a bit – spread across his usually angry features. "I'll follow in my truck." He tossed her the keys and she nearly fumbled them.

"Oh, ah. Sure. But then someone's gotta drive me back for my car."

"Not me," Dean's voice came muffled from the Impala's back seat.

Their dad's nearly permanent scowl was back. "Dean, put Sam up front with you, and you drive. I'll take my truck, and you can lead the way."

Jessica flushed. She wasn't sure why their father didn't like her, but it was starting to make her angry. She stiffened her back and stomped away without another word. What a jerk!

…

The best part of the cabin – with the Jacuzzi tubs, fully stocked kitchen, and monster fireplace – was that the nearest houses were a mile down the road. Even still, Sam's screams would have been heard if it weren't for the forest of redwoods surrounding them. The full-throated bellows and shrieks had tapered down at last a few hours ago. Hopefully they wouldn't start another round anytime soon. John didn't know how much more of this he could take.

For weeks he'd been hovering in doorways. He'd merely exchanged the hospital doorways for the doorways in the luxurious cabin Sam's girl was letting them use. His arms were crossed, and he knew he had to look like death-warmed over. Neither he nor Dean had slept more than three hours a day since breaking Sam out of that shit-hole hospital almost four days ago.

He watched as Dean moved down his brother's pajama clad body, rubbing at the cramping muscles in his legs and back. Sam lay on his stomach, unfortunately awake. His gut-deep sobs were more appropriate for a toddler than a man Sam's age. His boy wasn't getting better. There hadn't been anymore seizure yet, but the fever that had remained at 103 despite everything they did was going to kill him.

"Dean…"

"He'll be fine," his eldest answered automatically.

His voice was rough and almost too hoarse to lift over a whisper. Dean looked almost as bad as his brother. They both were ghosts of themselves. John felt sick with dread. God, he was losing them, both his sons to this madness.

"He's gonna pull out of it. All that craps almost out of his system."

John shook his head. Even if Sam pulled out of it like Dean kept insisting, he wasn't certain Sam's mind would be intact. The delirious and incoherent ravings over the last few days were hardly encouraging. Finally, Sam fell silent, going limp under his brother's hands.

"I'm going to get more coffee and water. You should eat while he's out, son."

"Later," Dean murmured predictably.

Food and sleep would all come later when Sam was better. Or not at all. Then John would be the last Winchester standing. That was the worst fate that could befall any man. It seemed to take years to reach the kitchen. He filled a pitcher of cool water from the refrigerator door and made sandwiches to bring to Dean. Now who was delusional? Maybe Sam was contagious.

"…oranges, Dean?"

John froze in the doorway. Sam was awake again and wasn't raving or sobbing. He was speaking normally. His voice hardly above a whisper, much like Dean's, but there was no stuttering. Dean's back was to John. The boy probably didn't even know his father was there, too wrapped up in his brother. He was bending low so they were only a few inches apart, and John shifted so he could see Sam's face over Dean's broad shoulder. Two red circles lay high on his cheeks and his eyes were glassy still with fever, but his skin was slick and shiny with sweat. The fever had finally broken. Better yet, Sammy was smiling. John almost staggered and had to clutch the pitcher of water to his chest or risk dropping it.

"What oranges, Sammy?"

"In Florida. Wanted to surprise Dad, remember? Cook him dinner. So we snuck into the orchard. Stole bags of oranges to practice. Dad got to judge whose was best."

Dean chuckled. "I remember. Ate so many damn oranges that week we couldn't look at another for months afterward."

"Who won? Don't remember."

John watched as Sam's eyes dropped with exhaustion, his smile still pulling at his chapped and bruised lips.

"Dude, your orange rice was pretty awesome."

Sam whispered a laugh, eyes opening again to look up at his brother. "Nah. It was awful. Your pancakes shoulda' won. Those were awesome."

Dean ducked his head. Even without being able to see his face, John knew he would be blushing. Dean never did well with compliments.

"Can you make 'em again? Haven't had your pancakes… in… long…" Sam was asleep before he could finish his sentence.

"Anything you want, Sammy," Dean answered, almost too softly to be heard.

"I remember that," John offered as he came fully into the room. He smiled as Dean's exhausted, red-rimmed eyes met his. "Sam's going to be just fine. You were right, son. You did good. Now get some sleep, Dean. I've got this watch."

Dean smiled back, heartfelt. "All right." His fingers brushed over Sam's hair as he stood. "Wake me if anything happens."

"I will," John promised. "Go."

Dean gave an absent nod and left for the guest room next door.

John settled into the chair beside Sam's bed and felt a wave of regret bow his shoulders forward. He remembered coming home to those orange dishes. It had confused him at first, but the uncomfortable look on Dean's face, even while Sammy had been so innocently excited, had clued him in.

It was one of the first times he'd left his boys for more than a weekend. He'd been hunting a witch. Got laid up in the local hospital for almost a week before he could escape and drive home. The money he'd left Dean had run out. To keep himself and Sam from starving, Dean had made eating oranges into a game. Turned a potential traumatizing memory into a good one. He'd been twelve, Sammy eight.

John had made so many mistakes. It was undeniable. Especially with Sammy. But mostly, all he could see were his successes. Dean and Sam were strong and well-trained. They were smart and selfless. But, sometimes, he wondered how much of Sam was Dean's doing, not his. Who tells their child, _'Don't ever come back'_? Dean, his obedient soldier, hadn't spoken to him for a month after that.

It had shocked him. Dean was the most forgiving man he knew, especially when it came to his family, and the rejection might have even gone on longer than a month, but John had finally broken and taken them to Stanford. They put up some protections around Sammy's dorm building and the campus, but neither of them had tried to talk to Sam. The boy had looked worn around the edges but determined. John hadn't wanted to interfere, and Dean must have agreed.

Sam had made his decision, one John understood so much better now after listening at the hospital door almost three weeks ago. But even back then, John had been proud of his son. He hadn't known about the phone calls. He felt a pang knowing none of them had been to him. But what did he expect? He'd well and truly turned his son against him.

"How is he?"

He almost jumped out of his skin at the soft voice. In a second-flat, he was on his feet, facing the door, a knife in hand, but it was only Sam's girl. Morning light flooded the room. Night had passed in a blink as he sat lost in thought. Thankfully, Jessica only had eyes for Sam and hadn't yet noticed the knife. John quickly returned it to the small of his back and out of sight.

"Better," he answered gruffly. "Fever's finally broken. Looks like he'll be just fine."

The girl nodded and finally looked at John. "Can I sit with him?"

He inclined his head and left the two of them alone. He went in search of some coffee. He stood at the kitchen sink, looking out at the forest as it percolated. He was strategizing on how to get his boys to eat, flipping through a list of their favorites, when a too familiar scream pierced the quiet. He was back in Sam's room almost instantly, but Dean still beat him. His eldest was already wrestling with his weakly flailing brother, yelling and trying to wake him up. Jessica was helping him as much as she could.

"Sammy! It's okay! It's just a dream!"

John moved forward, hesitating. His boy arched, giving voice to horrible screams that sounded like something dying.

"Dammit! Sam! Wake up!"

Jessica was crying, her tears dropping down on Sam's forehead and cheeks. Sam's screams turned into low howls of utter misery. John couldn't take it. He yanked the girl away from the bed, intending to take her place. It was like flicking off a light switch, instantaneous. As soon as she released her hold on Sam, the boy went still. He sobbed weakly as his eyes blinked open, obviously dazed, confused.

"De… De…" It was a desperate plea.

Dean crowded protectively closer. His knees literally pressed into the mattress as he stood as close as he could to the bed. "I'm right here, Sammy."

"Please. _Dean._ Make it stop. I'm sorry. Won't go away again. Just, _please,_ no more."

John's heart raced in his chest as he listened to his son's desperate begging. Sammy turned on his side and practically curled around Dean's thighs, his long arms wrapping around his brother, his face pressing into Dean's side as he trembled and shook. What the hell? But Dean didn't hesitate even a moment. His hands instantly went down to steady Sam against him, rubbing circles on Sam's back.

"Hey, hey," he soothed. "It's stopped. You're awake. I've gotcha. Nothin's gonna hurt you, Sammy. I'm here."

Green eyes flashed up to meet John's and darted a look at the pale, shell-shocked Jessica. John gratefully took the cue. This, he could deal with. Sam breaking apart, he couldn't. Firmly, he guided the girl from the room and shut the door after him to keep his sons out of sight. He led them to the living room before barking out a sharp, "Christo!"

The girl looked up at him unflinchingly. "Sam… What happened… I…"

Disappointed and relieved, John rubbed at his face. "You tell me."

She shook her head, and he could practically see the denial beginning to wrap around her. "I... I don't know."

"You do," he snapped, furious. "You need to tell me exactly what happened in there if you want to help Sam."

She jumped and tears flooded her eyes again. "I was telling him about school. It started back up yesterday. Then I took his hand. He… He _screamed_. But it couldn't be because of me… I'd never hurt him… I…"

John frowned darkly as she began to cry, reaction and shock settling in. Not good, he thought darkly, panic scrabbling at the corners of his mind. So not good. He remembered with a flash of perfect clarity, _"Your son is gifted, John. You either help him or he'll repress it. And when it finally comes out, it'll swallow him whole."_

John was terrified by the mere idea that Sam was psychic, but as the years passed and Sam had showed no hint of what Missouri had sensed, he'd relaxed and figured she'd been wrong. The woman wasn't infallible, after all.

"Shit."

He was a hunter. He wasn't ignorant or stupid to the supernatural. He was well aware that traumatic events – like being struck by lightning or smoldering in withdrawal-induced fever for days – could activate dormant psychic abilities. And now that it was absolutely undeniable, he realized that there _had _been hints. Hints he'd ignored. And by ignoring them, he'd unintentionally made his choice. He chose to encourage Sam to repress his… _abilities_. Now they were out of control and could very well drive his boy insane.

The supernatural had always been attracted to Sam. It was hell trying to protect the boy on hunts. Sam thought their over protectiveness was due to them not trusting him or doubting his skill, but it was because he was targeted so much worse than Dean. John had told himself it was because Sam was the weakest link, the youngest of their group, but it was because Missouri was right. Sam glowed in the dark. He was a Sensitive. The only good thing about this was that it seemed Dean was immune to Sam's awakened senses. Sam was safe with Dean. They might be able to salvage this yet. And maybe John would also be safe with Sam. Lord knew the boy would need all the help he could get.

"Is Sam okay?"

John looked directly into the girl's eyes for the first time since meeting her. "You're going to have to give us time. We'll call you when you can come back."

"But…"

"Sam's sick, but he's getting better. You're going to have to let us fix him."

Jessica nodded, obviously reluctant. "I'm going to write him a note before I leave. You'll give it to him?"

"Leave it on the mantle," he answered, already moving on to the things that needed to be done.

She was calmer but still shaken, so she nodded without argument.

John turned and stalked back to the bedroom. He had to know.

"… was dead, Dean. She was bleeding. It was dripping. Maybe on fire, too? That's all I remember… There was more, so _much_, but I can't…"

_Mary,_ he thought, pain spearing him briefly, as he slipped into the room. John carefully shut the door again behind him. Sam was on his back, no longer clinging to Dean's legs. He looked confused but coherent. Dean was sitting next to him, their hips touching.

"It was just a dream, Sam," Dean answered softly after a quick glance at John to make sure it was him. "You're still sick. It's no surprise that the nightmares are back. We've dealt with them before. It'll be fine."

John winced. He'd forgotten about all the nightmares Sam had had growing up. They'd been violent and horrible, but they'd eventually tapered off as Sam entered his teenage years. John had ignored them because Sam could never say what was in them, even though emotionally they had a powerful effect on his youngest. Another sign that Sam was different.

"But I scared her," Sam fretted, his long fingers twisting in the blankets. "Jess…"

"She's fine," John interrupted. He moved across the room and stopped at the bed. "She just wants you to get better. You still look like crap, Sam."

"Dad…"

Sam looked up at him with big, wet eyes. His boy was obviously exhausted, ill, and vulnerable. This was John's worst nightmare come to life. Not only was Sam apparently a psychic of some kind, but he was weak and untrained. He was literally a sitting duck, defenseless to all the evil out there. Evil that would hunt him down and gobble him up. It was only a matter of time before Sam was killed. Worse, he'd be consumed. Sam couldn't protect himself like this, and John and Dean were only human. They'd fall eventually. John _needed_ Sam strong.

He steeled himself and reached down to touch Sam's shoulder. Sam showed no reaction. Dean, however, stiffened and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. John took a deep breath and moved to touch Sam's cheek, skin to skin. He didn't know if that made a difference, but he had to make sure. Jessica had touched Sam's hand. Maybe skin contact mattered.

_Please,_ he prayed. _Let me be safe for Sam. I need a second chance. Need one more chance to train him right. I can't lose my baby boy. Please, Mary, help me protect him._

"Dad?" Sam stiffened, but he otherwise showed no distress. "What? Is… something wrong?"

"You tell me, Sam," John answered softly, holding his breath, waiting for the verdict. He stared into Sam's eyes even as his boy tried to turn his head away.

"Dad? What are you doing?"

Dean was on his feet, but John couldn't look at him, couldn't reassure him. All his attention was on Sam. Sweat was beading on the boy's brow. Was he losing it? John held his breath.

"Christo!"

John smiled at that. He glanced at his oldest. "Good boy, but I'm not a demon."

At the d-word, Sam's eyes flared wide open. As if in slow motion, John watched Sammy's mouth fall open, his face stretched in torment, terror bleaching his features, as his body went into seizures. He looked like a picture out of Hell.

…

Sam screamed, hysterical, as fire exploded the world. Almost blinded with light, he struggled to cover his eyes. It burned his face, his arms, his hands. Then he saw her. _She_ was there. She was _burning_. His heart felt torn from his chest. God. The pain of seeing her, the grief and madness inducing horror. His love, his everything, burning away to nothing. Gone.

Sam screamed with loss so profound it cracked apart his very soul. It was so agonizing he couldn't even feel as his own flesh caught fire and burned away. All that existed was loss of _her_.

Laughter had him spinning around, grief igniting into pure rage. A man stood there with yellow eyes. Evil. Behind the bastard were hundreds of corpses, paving the road he walked. Bodies of children and beautiful women lay like decomposing dolls. He could still hear the echoes of the infants' crying, the wails of grief for the mothers and wives that died for them, with them. All dead because of this laughing _demon_.

Sam roared, so beyond anger there was no word for it. He went berserk. He launched himself forward, no concept of self-preservation or sanity, his mind consumed with bloodlust and bent on destruction. Desperate to kill, maim, destroy. The demon laughed as Sam thrashed on the fist slammed through his chest. Uncaring that the fucker was going to squeeze his heart until it burst, Sam still clawed and fought, determined to kill this monster. Blood filled Sam's mouth as he growled and hissed, and still he lashed out at the demon. Until all lights went out.

Such darkness. It filled the universe, and he was swimming with no land in sight. He was suddenly _terrified_. Ohgodohgodohgod, they were _coming!_ He was stripped bare, reduced, diminished, no pride or confidence or skill. Nothing left, and the monsters were _coming_. Sam had no protections for body or mind. Broken, helpless, he reached one last time for salvation.

"Dean! Please! Dean!"

Sam began to sink into the murky dark of death and torment. His body would be consumed by monsters, his soul unraveled stitch by agonizing stitch. He could _see_ it! What they would do to him, and he couldn't even breathe around the terror, let alone scream. Sobbing, he let himself go. There was nothing left… Nothing…

Something grabbed his wrist and he _screamed_… It was starting! … But he couldn't fight, exhausted to the point of death.

But instead of teeth and blood-soaked claws, he was pulled up, out of the dark waters. Sam gasped and sputtered, heart _racing_ in his chest as he shook apart at the seams. Dean held him close to his broad chest. Strong, solid, protective. Sam clung to his shoulders, fingers white as they clutched at his brother's shirt. He couldn't talk past his chattering teeth, couldn't blink for fear of returning to the dark, to the monsters. He kept them wide open, locked on his protector.

"I gotcha, Sam. I gotcha."

Dean's rough voice was almost as solid as his body. It wrapped around him, further shielding him from everything else. Sam shuddered and curled forward as close to Dean as possible, silently begging.

_Help me. Keep me safe. Save me. _

He felt more than saw Dean lean over him in answer. _Always._

Sam sighed, still shaky but beginning to relax. He caught sight of Dad crouching down next to him. Sam felt tears spill over his raw cheeks as a hard hand gently settled on his head. He relaxed further. Dad and Dean were there. He was safe at last.

…

Dean sat shell-shocked, half curled over Sam's trembling body.

_Watch out for Sammy. Keep your brother safe._

His little _brother_. Raving and fighting things that were only in his head. His Sammy with such terror and horror on his face, with wide empty eyes the picture of devastation. Sammy who _screamed_ so desperately for Dean. It had taken an hour, a goddamned _hour_, to get through to Sam. And the look that had flooded his brother's too wide eyes when he finally saw Dean… It brought him to his knees. He didn't know what to do with such _trust _and_ need_, was terrified to fail his brother.

"What. The. Hell?" He looked up at his father through narrowed eyes. "What was _that?_ That wasn't a nightmare! It wasn't even feverish delusions! His heart almost _burst!"_

His Dad stared back at him, and for a horrible moment, Dean thought he wouldn't get an answer. He felt his blood pressure begin to skyrocket with fury. Now wasn't the time for their Dad's need-to-know bullshit! Sam had almost _died_ in his arms.

"Help me put him in bed. We'll talk in the kitchen."

Dean growled at the delay and at the thought of leaving Sam's side even for a minute, but he forced himself to calm. Sam needed to rest, and they might wake him up. Carefully, they cleaned the sweat off Sam with warm rags and changed his pajamas. In less than ten minutes, Sam was back in bed and tucked in safely. Dean spun on his heel and stalked from the room, heading for the kitchen. He immediately turned off the coffee, it was close to burning by this point, and turned back to the door, arms-crossed, as Dad entered.

"Spill. What's going on with Sam?"

Before answering, his father moved to the counter and picked up his cell phone. He dialed a number. Dean watched with unblinking eyes. "I need you," Dad said gruffly. "California. Cabin just out past Sanford." He hung up the phone and lifted his head to meet Dean's gimlet stare. "A friend's on her way. She'll help us."

"With what?" He'd never spoke like that to his father, but he didn't even care.

"Dean," he said on a sigh. "Your brother…"

"What about him?" Dean was practically growling.

Dad snapped. "Can the attitude, boy. Your brother's got one hell of a parting gift from that damned lightning strike. He's going to need help controlling it."

And it was Dean's turn to be struck by lightning. Shit. He knew as well as their dad how some psychics came into being. His fists clenched. Goddamn it to motherfucking hell. _Sammy._

"Missouri is a good friend of mine. A psychic we can trust." He realized his Dad was staring at him in that evaluating way he had, measuring if Dean was ready for a hunt. "You probably don't remember her. You were only five when you met. She told me then Sam might have abilities. I thought she was wrong."

"Fuck." It was the least foul thing he could say at this point.

"She can help, Dean," Dad said again, hotly. "She can teach us what we need to know."

Dean turned and began to leave the room.

"You okay with this?"

Dean's back stiffened at the hard question. He turned around and the glare was back full force. "He's m'brother." Then he turned and marched away. What the hell did Dad think? That he was just going to abandon Sam when his brother needed him most? Fuck that! This was shitty, and it sucked big ones, but Dean wasn't going anywhere. It was his job to protect Sam. That's all that mattered in the end.

Sitting numbly on his brother's bed, almost unconsciously he reached for Sam's neck and pressed at his pulse point. Still a little fast but closer to normal. Sam had been minutes away from dying in Dean's arms. He didn't care what it took, psychic boy or not, but that would _never_ happen again.

He must've fallen asleep. Next thing he knew it was morning again and Dad was shaking his foot.

"Dean."

He sat up, instantly alert as a stranger filled the bedroom doorway. He stood and blocked the woman's view of Sam, knowing without looking his brother was still sleeping and vulnerable by the even, deep breaths behind him.

"This is Missouri. She can help."

Dean leveled a sharp look her way. "What exactly can you do?"

The black woman huffed and slapped Dad upside the head. Dean's eyes went wide in awe. "What? You thought you'd leave all the explainin' to me, did ya, Winchester?"

Amazingly, Dad didn't retaliate. He merely sighed. "Dean was sleeping. I thought talking could wait."

Despite his shock, Dean shifted to block her when she stepped further into the room. For a second, he stared into deep chocolate eyes and had a sense of mutual respect pass between them.

"Boy, I can't help you if you don't let me."

"Dean."

Stiffly, Dean stood to the side at his father's order, but he didn't go far. He was ready to intervene if Sam showed the slightest distress.

Missouri didn't touch Sam, but when she got close to the bedside she gasped. "John, you fool."

Dean's eyes flashed to his Dad's, but the man wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Can you help?" he demanded gruffly.

"The boy's been broken wide open. Usually it's like a window. You awaken abilities slowly, opening an inch at a time." She shook her head, and Dean saw her hands were trembling. "His mind's flung all open, the glass shattered."

"Can you fix it?" their Dad demanded with a fierce glare.

Missouri shook her head. "Johnny… I'm sorry, but the trauma… The poor boy! Such power…"

Dean stepped closer, protectively. "There has to be something we can do! Please."

Missouri looked into his eyes and visibly squared her shoulders. "He'll need a crutch. A storm shutter, if you will. Had he opened his powers more naturally, he'd be able to protect himself, but as I said, the glass of his window's all broken. Even if we shut his gift down, there'll be a gaping hole where any old thing can get in."

"How do we get him a shutter?" Dean practically leapt on the chance his brother could be helped.

"Someone else'll be his shield, his anchor, since he can't be his own no more." Missouri again looked at Dean.

Dad stepped forward. "I trust you, Missouri. Can you be his anchor?"

Dean hardly felt the heavy hand that settled on his shoulder. He already knew how this would play out. He'd trust no one else to guard Sam's fragile mind. For a second, it almost felt like relief. All his life he'd been trained to protect Sammy. And it almost felt like it was all for this one moment.

"I could," Missouri answered reluctantly. "But it wouldn't be as strong or as effective as it'd be if it was someone he trusted. Either you or Dean would serve."

Dean held his breath, paralyzed by the thought that his duty would be taken by their father.

"No. You're psychic. It'd be best if it was you."

Missouri narrowed her eyes. "Don't be telling me my business, John. I know what I'm talking about."

"Dad…" Dean began.

"No, Dean. We have to be free to protect Sam. Things will be coming for him now. More than ever before. We have to be able to fight."

"I can still fight," Dean protested hotly.

"You wouldn't be able to leave Sam, and Sam can't be exposed to the supernatural," John snapped back. "I said no, Dean. Missouri will do it."

Dean said nothing as Missouri sighed and turned back to his brother. He trembled with the need to intervene. Sam was _his_ responsibility. But Dad had given an order. Said it was best for Sam this way. That Sam would need them to physically defend him. But, god, it was hard.

Missouri put her plump hand on Sam's head. Dean held his breath as his brother went rigid, back arching off the mattress. With a startled shout, Missouri was flung violently across the room. Dean didn't even turn to make sure she was okay. He rushed forward as Sam's panicked eyes darted around the room. He dropped to his knees, hands soothing back Sam's hair. His brother's heart rate was up again.

"It's all right, Sammy. I'm here."

Sam was obviously exhausted. He weakly turned his face in Dean's direction, his eyes bloodshot. "Dean," he whispered, frightened. "Inside me. Get it out. Something's crawling inside me. _Dean._ It hurts, god, it _hurts!_ Help me."

"Okay. Okay, Sammy. Relax. Breathe with me. I'm gonna fix it. I swear. Trust me, little brother. I gotcha." Without looking away from his brother., Dean said over his shoulder," Missouri. Tell me what I need to do."

"Dean…"

"Dad," Dean snapped. He didn't have time for this. "This is how it's going to go. Missouri. Now."

He heard movement behind him, but all his attention was on Sam, who was bravely trying to match his panicked, hitching breaths to Dean's slow, even breathing. His heart was still beating too fast, but it was beginning to calm. Dean held tightly to Sammy's hand and tried to show how proud he was with his eyes and a half-smile. Sam blinked tears and sweat clear of his vision, but he never looked away.

"He's already reaching out for ya. He just don't know what he needs to do. I'm gonna show him. You'll know when it's done."

Dean couldn't see her, but he knew the instant she touched Sam. Sam tensed as his eyes went wide with terror. Dean held Sam's hand tightly, pinning his brother with an intense look. "Trust me, Sam. You gotta relax. It's okay. I wouldn't let anyone who'd hurt ya get close. Just do what you need to, Sammy. Let it happen. I'm here. I gotcha."

Then something warm and heavy firmly grasped the back of his neck. It pressed him down. Dean resisted the pressure until he found his balance again and relaxed. Sam went limp under his hands. His face, tight with strain and slick with sweat, loosened on a gasp of surprise. His pupils dilated, and he smiled goofily.

"Dean, _ohhh…"_

The soft moan of pleasure made Dean blush. "Ah, jeez, Sammy. The things I do for you." He blushed hotter when Sam's smile only widened. Dean wished their Dad wasn't standing so close, holding onto his neck. This was embarrassing enough. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Dean. S'good. You got me." Sam's big hand lifted clumsily and patted at Dean's chest. "Best big brother ever. Always save my ass."

Dean laughed. "Let's leave your ass out it, huh, little bro?"

Sam's face crumpled, fear creeping back into his eyes. "Don't leave me, Dean. Please. Need you."

Dean tried to shake off their Dad's hand as he leaned closer to his brother. Dad held on stubbornly, so Dean decided to ignore him. Sammy was more important. He'd deal with the man's disappointment later.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, Sam. Stop being such a chick and rest, okay?"

Sam's smile peeked out at the corners of his mouth. "Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam's eyes fluttered closed. His breathing deepened as he slipped into sleep.

"You okay?"

Dean's head whipped around. That had been Dad, but it had come from the other side of the room.

The foreboding man stood by the door, leading Missouri out by the arm.

"I'll be fine. Just need some tea."

"I got coffee," he countered gruffly, obviously angry by how things had played out.

All of this barely registered with Dean, who was still focused on the warm hold on his neck. No one else was near him. It had to be Sam. His eyes widened as it really hit him what had just happened. He scrambled to his feet, chasing after the other two.

"What does this mean," he demanded a bit frantically. The hold on him didn't lessen or waver no matter how he moved or paced in front of the couch Dad had settled Missouri onto.

"A little late to be asking questions," Dad growled.

"John. Coffee," Missouri interrupted.

He scowled at her, but rose to do as she asked.

Temporarily distracted, Dean grinned. "How do you do that?"

She lifted an eyebrow unimpressed. "I don't take nonsense from nobody, boy. Now sit down."

Dean obeyed, scratching at the back of his neck. She slapped at his hand.

"Stop that. There's nothing there. You're only feeling an interpretation of the mental link. If you resist too much, Sam will sense it and think you're rejecting him."

Dean instantly froze. "Shit."

"Now, honey, I know it feels strange. It's gonna be uncomfortable at first. You're sharing space with someone that has always been all your own. In time, you won't even notice."

"Can he read my mind and stuff?"

Missouri sighed. "Well, I'm not sure how his abilities will manifest. We've seen so far that he's telekinetic and has visions. What else he'll develop, I'm not sure." She patted Dean's knee gently. "But the link will fog the issue for Sam where you're concerned. You literally stand between Sam and the metaphysical world. That means you're too close to him to really read properly. Like trying to focus on something right in front of your nose. It's impossible and causes strain."

Dean grinned, a weight lifting from his shoulders. He loved Sam dearly, his only brother, his best friend, but he'd been bothered by the thought Sam could possibly see into him more than Dean ever wanted anyone to see.

She laughed at him. "Though if you think he won't be able to read you through everyday means, you're crazy, boy. He knows you as well as you know him."

Dean rubbed his hair with a smile. "Yeah. He does know me pretty damn well, but still, that's not the same as being able to get in my head."

Missouri nodded, understanding.

"And I don't want him worrying about me. That's my job."

"Boy." She slapped his head. "You're father told you the truth. You boys are now connected. That ain't a metaphor. If you were to be hurt, Sam would feel it. Heaven forbid, if you died, he'd either follow due to shock or need to be locked up in an asylum drugged to the gills."

Dean looked horrified. "Couldn't someone else become his shield?"

"No." Missouri shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry, but the ability to maintain a link would be yanked out of him if your bond were to be destroyed. It would leave a wound too deep to mend."

Dean was on his feet with no memory of standing. He was used to being able to fling himself between Sam and trouble, not having to really worry about what happened to him as long as he knew Sam was okay. That had all changed. He now had to protect himself just as fiercely. It was overwhelming. How would he be able to defend them hampered like this? He saw now why Dad had been against it.

"Shit."

Missouri was furious. "I could slap him," she muttered. But before she could say more their Dad returned with the promised coffee.

"Sorry, Dad. I just didn't see any other way."

John said nothing, and Dean cringed. His Dad now had to guard two handicaps, not one. Worse, his Dad had just lost his partner. Who would watch John's back now?

"I can't believe you two," Missouri yelled. She jumped to her feet, her hands clenched and shaking at her side. "It ain't like you lost your limbs! Sam's powerful. Once he gets a bit of control over his abilities, he'll be an asset in any fight! And, Dean! You can still fight, boy. You just can't be suicidal!"

"You don't understand, Missouri," John barked, equally angry. He got right up in the woman's face. "I know it seems counter-intuitive, but the ability to go into battle not worrying about your hide could mean the difference between livin or dyin. You can't be scared of losing your life when you go into a battle, or it'll be used against you!"

Missouri wasn't going down without a fight. "John, you fool of a Winchester! You open your eyes to the here and now and leave the big picture alone! Your youngest isn't outta the woods yet. He's not gonna react well to you tellin him he's psychic, especially after what you've been filling that boy's head with! You gonna add to that by tellin him he's a burden? Dean, you gonna sit there and look like you've been handed a death sentence because you two are connected?" Her chest heaved with emotions and angry tears ran over her cheeks. "You shoulda let the boy's heart give out! Why save him if you're just gonna push him into taking his own life? What should he live for? Not this, I tell you! And you know where suicide will get him? You yanked that boy from Heaven and his Mama only to condemn him to Hell!"

"Enough!" John bellowed.

Dean was too shocked to speak. He was having trouble breathing, thank you so much. The picture Missouri painted with her cruel words made him ice cold. The mere thought of Sam killing himself… The gentle pressure on his neck increased. Instinctively, he knew Sam was reacting to his distress and Dean tried to calm down. Missouri was right, damn it! If he felt the connection or whatever was negative, Sam would find out and obsess about it. And Dean was well aware Sam was a gold medalist in Guilt. He didn't need Missouri to tell him how that would eventually destroy his brother.

"He'll kick ass, you say," he ventured hopefully, trying to break the glaring match between Dad and the psychic.

Missouri turned to him with a strained smile. "I know his gift makes him stand out a bit to the supernatural, but it also enables him to fight it more effectively than either of you."

Dean shot their Dad a look and saw the man was still furious. His new found optimism wavered.

Missouri clapped her hands. "Okay. This is what we'll do. John, when Sam wakes up, you'll tell him that you still love him, that being psychic doesn't change that. And you will make that clear, Johnny," she said seriously. "Then I'll hook you up with a psychic hunter I know. You'll see how they make the gift work for them, not just against. That way you'll have some idea how it'll be with Sam."

Dean was startled by his Dad's almost violent reaction.

"No!" John's eyes were cold, his fists clenched. "You won't be telling anyone about Sam."

"John! I'll not say a word. It's not like Pamela shouts to high Heaven what she is. I'll just tell her you're going to be training a psychic. She won't know it's Sam."

"If she's psychic, she'll see it," John snarled. "I said no, Missouri."

"Pam can be trusted!"

"No!"

Dean physically placed himself between the two, honestly afraid his Dad was going to hit her. "Hey. Calm down. You don't have to go. And, to be honest, no matter what you say to Sam, he won't believe it if you ditch us here. He'll think you hate him."

"Fine," Missouri huffed with her arms crossed. "I'll do research to see if there's any accounts on psychics in battle for you to read." With that, she turned and stormed off to an empty guest room.

Dean eyed his dad. "You okay?"

"Go and watch your brother," he sighed in answer.

Dean watched as his father stalked to the kitchen with worried eyes. He knew they were both caught off balance with Sam and his new abilities, but their dad wasn't doing well with it, at all. Dean worried for him. The last year without Sam had been hard and too quiet. Without Sam there questioning, arguing, the hunts were near silent. No telling what this psychic shit would do to the man. No telling what their father's attitude would do to Sam, either.

"Great," he muttered. "Something more to worry about."

…

For the next two days, the Winchesters slept and recovered their strength. They only woke long enough to eat and use the restroom before crawling back into bed. Dean bunked with Sam, sharing the Queen bed. John took the room next door, and Missouri stayed in the last room down the hall. It was on the third morning that Dean woke to find Sam staring at him. He knew instantly the break was over. His brother's face had some color, he was freshly washed from a shower the night before, and his expression was relaxed, but his hazel eyes were dark and haunted.

"What happened?" Sam whispered, eyes locked on Dean's.

"What do you remember?" He asked in return, mostly to stall. He sat up and put the headboard at his back. Mostly so he didn't have to stare into his brother's hollowed out eyes.

"A lot of stuff," Sam answered. He didn't bother trying to sit up.

Dean translated that as meaning, _too much_. He gritted his teeth, hating that Sammy was suffering. He decided to go for casual. "You got struck by lightning, dude. It shook something up in your geek brain."

"So it was real. All of it," Sam rasped. His fists clenched in the blankets and his eyes squeezed shut.

"Hey." Dean placed a hand on his brother's head. "We'll figure this out, Sam. You were out of control, but we'll fix that. It'll never be that way again. I swear it."

Sam opened his eyes and stared up at him as tears rolled down his cheeks. "I'm _psychic_, Dean. How can that ever be okay?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably, but he didn't flinch away from his brother's need. He tightened his hold on Sam's hair and gave it a gentle shake. "You listen to me. Whatever else you are, whatever you do, you're still a Winchester. My geeky little brother. And we'll work this out together. The three of us."

A smile peeked around the corners of Sam's mouth and the tears stopped. Sam ducked his head and swiped at his face halfheartedly. Dean ruffled his hair and let him go, basking in the silence and in his success. It didn't last long, of course. Sam was never one to let things go.

"What does Dad say about this?

Dean had a flashback to when Sam was thirteen and had joined the school soccer team. Sam had refused to tell Dad because he was afraid he would make him quit, so Dean had been the one to tell him. Sam had waited in the car, and when Dean had come out, he'd asked in the same low, hesitant voice, "What did Dad say?" There had been other instances like that, and the answer always varied. Dean was happy to report this was one of the cases Sam would be let off the hook.

"He's worried about you. He knows this puts you in danger, and he hates that, but we've never hid from the truth. He's going to do his best to see that you can defend yourself mentally as well as physically. And we're going to help you as much as we can."

Sam shook his head. "I can't believe it. That he's okay with this. That you are. Hell, I'm not okay with it. I keep hoping I'll wake up and this will all be a horrible dream."

"I know, little brother, but we can work this out. We've dealt with worse. It's not the end of the world."

Sam looked up, and Dean almost flinched at the ocean of fear he saw inside his brother. "Dean, man, it feels like it is. I… I can't… I can't go back there again."

"You won't," Dean promised again. "I told you that was because you were out of control. It's over; you're past that. It won't happen again, okay?"

"How do you know?" Sam asked in a soft, pleading voice that reminded Dean of five-year-old Sammy.

He ruffled his brother's hair again. "I'm the oldest. I'm always right. Besides, I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you."

…

And so the future was altered. A different destiny taken up.

**The End**


End file.
